Frisk paused as they walked into the living room, coat still hanging off their arm, looked around at the three monsters sitting on various perches, and frowned. "Okay. What happened? I was only gone for a whole minute to grab my coat and you all look like someone died."

The look on Sans' face usually would have been enough to make them think he'd done something, but the look of sheer unease made him appear innocent for once. Papyrus also looked uneasy.

Asriel—no, Chara, on the other hand, sat very stiffly on their end of the couch. And from the way they quickly glanced away from Frisk made the ambassador think that at least one of their wards had gotten into some kind of trouble.

"Chara. Glad you could join us." Frisk put one hand on their waist. "I'm still waiting for an answer."

"Dinner!" Papyrus shouted, jumping to his feet. "I need to go get dinner started!"

Frisk shot him a baffled frown. "Papyrus, we're going out for dinner."

"Nonsense! A home cooked meal, that's far better for you," he retorted, but the way he kept fidgeting with his clothes, his gloves, and his bandana took out any of his credibility. "Yes, that's right! I'll go get started right now, so… bye."

Frisk had to duck to avoid being run over as Papyrus hurried into the kitchen. They frowned after him, but when they turned back they saw the faint flicker of magic as Sans vanished from sight. A faint thump from upstairs gave him away; he was in their bedroom. Frown deepening, they turned to look at Chara. "Okay. Last chance. You want to tell me what happened?"

This time, the guilt showed freely on their face. Oh boy, Frisk thought, tired already, this is going to be one hell of a doozy, isn't it?

"I…" they began, meekly. "I had no intention… I was not trying to cause a problem."

"Well, that's nice. Are you going to tell me what you did or not?"

Pure misery flashed over their face and Frisk' annoyance abated for a moment.

Sighing, Frisk tossed their coat on the back of a chair. "Stay put. I got a feeling you and I are going to be having a little chat in a bit."

Chara nodded glumly. "Can I at least go sit in my room?"

"Don't get caught up in anything too important," Frisk warned. "Be ready to talk when I get in there."

Again, Chara nodded and slid off the couch. They wandered towards the stairs and took each one like they were walking up the gallows.

It would have been melodramatic if they hadn't done something to really freak out the brothers. With a sigh, Frisk waited until they could hear Chara and Asriel's door shut and then climbed up the stairs as well. They glanced at the children's door with a bemused shake of their head and opened their own door. Inside, the room was empty, but Frisk didn't give up. Since Sans had few reasons to use a bathroom, they didn't bother to check there and instead went straight to the balcony.

As they thought, he was sitting on the wicker bench, smoking a cigarette. They opened their mouth to speak, paused, and then frowned when they saw how furiously he was puffing away at the smoke and how a tremor shook his hand. Just what the hell had Chara done to spook him so bad anyway? Rather than waste time, they cleared their throat. "Perhaps you can explain what the hell just happened down there?"

Sans paused, gazing down at the balcony's floor before finally glancing upward at them. He stared as they waited patiently until he at last sighed. He glanced away, towards the lights flickering on in the streets below. "That kid is fucked up."

"Well, all things considered, that's not much of a surprise," they replied, walking over to take a seat next to him. "They both had some pretty rough times in the past, so whatever happened, I'm going to need a little more to go on."

He was quiet for a long moment before he looked up at them. "Frisk, are you one hundred percent sure that kid isn't going to hurt anyone? You included?"

Frisk blinked at him before looking away. Once, a lifetime ago, they murdered their way through the underground before Papyrus stopped them with his kindness and courage; during that run, they felt a growing darkness in them, egging them on as they went. They'd never been entirely sure whether that darkness was their own or Chara's, but they could remember Chara dismissing Papyrus coldly out of hand at first before they decided to spare him. After that, the cold darkness retreated until Frisk committed themselves to trying once more, heart set on doing no harm that time. After that, Chara had resolutely urged them forward towards pacifism.

That had been their own Chara. This world's Chara was a little different, but not by much. They had a quiet, steady nature, a soul full of determination, a mind that missed nothing, and deep love for Asriel. There were notes of darkness—a hatred for humanity, an unwillingness to forgive others or even themselves for past wrongs.

But that was not all that was there at all. Chara had a sweeter side as well; a thoughtful nature, a wry sense of humor, a general fondness towards monsters that persisted in spite of everything, and a kind affection to the ones they loved. How many times had Chara come to them with a cup of Chara's favorite hot chocolate during those nights with their long bouts of insomnia, a patient smile that stayed on their lips as they stubbornly made sure they drank it all? How many times had they silently taken Frisk's hands in tense moments, even when they desisted being touched by others?

With a smile, Frisk turned back to Sans. "I'm sure I have nothing to fear from them. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

He watched them for a moment, quiet and thinking until at last he looked away. "We were all just sitting there, waiting for you to come back. Asriel said something—I don't remember what it was. That you liked nice tonight maybe?"

"Well, we were going out to dinner." They frowned—this meant they got dressed up for nothing.

"Something—it must have been, because he added something else. That you always look good, I think?"

Amused, Frisk smoothed a crease forming in their pant leg as they crossed their legs. "That was sweet of him."

"'s weird if you ask me."

"Oh, Sans, he's eight years old," they huffed, trying not to chuckle. "Do you know how many crushes I had on people at eight years old? I was an accomplished flirt by then."

That got a chuckle out of him, despite his dour mood. "You must have made a load of people super uncomfortable."

"Oh, tons. I even flirted with Toriel. She just thought I was a funny little kid." They smiled as he choked on a laugh. "At least he doesn't flirt with me outright."

"Yeah, well, still weird. Anyway, I said… I think it was 'Yeah, they probably will until the day you outlive us all'."

All humor died as Frisk whirled around to face him properly. "Sans!"

He leaned away from them, sweat on his skull—even he knew that it had be wrong. "I didn't mean it come out like that."

"Sans, again—he's eight years old!" they snapped. "So what if he's got some crush on me—it's barely puppy love and probably more to the fact that he and I shared an incredibly stressful journey that led to one hell of a positive turn around for… everyone, really." They shook their head and leaned back into the bench. "There was no need to tell him that he's going to have to watch us all die of old age while he lives on. Keep saying stuff like that and you'll give the poor kid a complex." Asgore and Toriel are going to think we're all terrible people and I'm a terrible guardian and I'm not going to be able to blame them for that. Shit, I'm going to have to talk to him as well now. Poor kid.

Shaking their head, they turned back to him with a sigh as they reached into their pocket for their own pack of cigarettes. "Alright, well, what happened after that?"

Sans shifted again; the bench squeaked in protest. "Whatever Asriel thought, it must have set Chara off because all of a sudden it was Chara looking at me with that creepy smile of theirs." Frisk tried not to sigh again; Sans seemed to have a special talent for riling up Chara. "Before I could say anything they looked at me and said 'Yes. It is possible that we shall outlive all of you. But you should know. It's not like Frisk shall live forever, either'."

Frisk froze, frowning. Well, at least it explained why the brothers had been so unnerved. Perhaps they needed to include a talk about not trying to prove a point by scaring other people. It also probably hadn't helped Asriel either. Ah, I can't even leave these people alone for a minute, can I?

"Ah, well." They paused, glancing up at the darkening sky. "Okay, well, I think I actually get what they meant."

"What?" he asked, voice sharp. When they looked at him, there was no anger in his face, just confusion.

They cleared their throat and leaned over, kindly. "How long do skeleton monsters live?"

His brow knit together. "What you mean? Like if we aren't killed?"

"Yes, exactly."

He paused, his expression shifting as he was forced to consider it. "Fuck, I don't actually know? There's a few of us still around from before, you know, the war. Pretty long, I guess."

They nodded. "Yeah, that's not that far off from… well. To be blunt, you're probably going to live for at least a few centuries, right?"

He froze before running a hand over the curve of his skull. "There was some research… stress like what we were living through, it can and will dramatically shorten a monster's lifespan." He dropped his hand back to his lap. "But, if nothing else goes wrong? Probably at least a few centuries, yeah."

Their chest felt tight, but they nodded anyway. "Humans live… well, a human might live to be over one hundred," they explained, tugging him closer, as if proximity might take the sting out of the words as he flinched. "Medicine's come a long way, but human bodies just aren't meant to last forever. We just start to fall apart over time."

His face was blank, his smile so small it was more of a grimace than a smile. "You… do you think you'll live that long?"

They paused and glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in their free hand. "Eh, probably not if I keep smoking these. They killed my grandfather in the end—that means there's already a weakness in my genes against it." They smiled, trying to lighten the mood as they squeezed his shoulder. "Guess it's time I moved over to monster cigs, huh? At least they won't kill me."

Instead of being comforted, Sans was too busy staring at the pack of cigarettes like it was a ticking bomb. Silently, he reached into his pocket, drew out his own pack, then reached out for theirs. Frisk let him take their pack and then accepted his as he pressed it into their hands. Then, to their amusement, he hurled their pack over the side of the balcony before they could stop him. "Hey! That's littering, you know."

His glare took them aback for a moment. "No more of those. I'll just buy more packs when I get mine."

They almost chuckled, but they could still see the worry in his eyes. Instead, they ran a hand over the curve of his skull and pulled him closer to press a kiss to his temple. "Alright. No more human cigarettes." That was a shame—actual tobacco tasted worlds better than monster kind, but then they could still see the fear in his eyes. They felt a stab of guilt for being so calm about it and patted his shoulder. "Just monster cigs from now on. Okay?"

"Yes."

They paused, glancing at him. "Sans? You going to be okay?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the floor of the balcony for a while. "I don't know," he murmured finally. It sounded like defeat.

Frowning, they pressed another kiss to his temple and gave him a squeeze. "Sorry if that was indelicate, but I thought you knew about human lifespans. It comes up a lot in… all of our media, really."

"I just… never really thought about it before."

Face softening, they took their free hand and used it to turn his face to meet their gaze. Once their eyes locked, they spoke. "Look, whatever happens, I'm not dying today and I'm not dying tomorrow. So we have time." They patted his shoulder and released his skull as they let their hand drop. "I'm also one of the most determined bastards alive, so I'm not going to drop dead from anything either."

He looked away. They started to frown, but then he leaned against them; quickly they wrapped their arms around him in turn, rubbing his back as soothingly as they could.

"Sans," they murmured after a stretch of silence. "Are you alright now, love?"

He shrugged and pulled back. Despite the comfort he sought in their arms, he still looked shaken. "Yeah, I just. Need a few minutes. To think."

Frisk frowned, but then bit back a sigh. They'd told Chara that they wouldn't take too long, but here they still were talking to Sans. Chara wasn't one to worry themselves into a fit, but Asriel might be getting scared. Reluctantly, Frisk patted Sans' back and stood. "You take some time. I need to go talk to Chara. Figure out what do with… them, I guess." They paused and pressed a hand to his cheek. They tried to get him to look up at them; instead, he closed his eyes and leaned into the palm of their hand. Knowing him, that was entirely on purpose, but they weren't sure what it meant. They bit their lip and sighed. "I'll be a few minutes. Do you want to talk after I'm done with them, or will you need more time?"

He shrugged, eyes still shut.

Their face fell a little more, but they hid it by leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Call me if you need me." They waited for him to nod, which he did after a long moment, then turned and walked back out of their room.

They crossed the hall, gave Chara a polite knock of warning, and then opened the door.

The child was sitting on their bed, a book still lying open on their lap. They looked up, face glum, as they stepped in. "How much trouble am I in?"

"Well, less than you probably think," they sighed, walking over to the bed. "May I join you?"

Chara, face carefully blank, pulled their legs back even thought there was plenty of room on the bed.

"So," Frisk began after they plopped down onto the bed. "You freaked our boys out pretty bad with that little stunt."

"I didn't mean to," they muttered, voice soft as they fiddled with a corner of the page between their fingers.

"Yes, well, you still did it." They paused to study them. "Do you know how you freaked them out?"

They winced. "They thought I was threatening you." They looked up at them, face suddenly serious. "I was not. I only meant to remind them that it was not as if he was going to get any more time with you than Asriel will."

Frisk nodded. "Yeah, well, apparently, they didn't actually know that." They watched Chara wince. "Or at least Sans didn't, which probably means Papyrus didn't either. So, whatever you said, it flew over their heads."

"Oh," they murmured, voice small. "I… I am sorry. I thought they knew."

With a sigh, they stood. "Well, they didn't. So, here's what we're going to do. Since you didn't mean any harm and didn't cause any—well, any that wouldn't have happened later anyways—we're going to just let this one go. But. I want you to apologize. To the both of them," they added quickly as Chara sat up, hope flashing in their eyes; just as swiftly, Chara's shoulders slumped. "Why don't you go start with Papyrus first though."

Chara nodded and sat their book aside. "Okay. Do you think he is mad at me?"

"Well, I'd say more upset than mad," they admitted as Chara climbed off their bed. "You still should go apologize. I believe he's still down in the kitchen." Before the child could dart off, Frisk cleared their throat; when Chara looked back, Frisk spoke again. "Asriel, how're you doing?"

For a moment, the eyes in the child's face changed from red to brown; Asriel looked miserably out at them. Without a word, Frisk opened their arms and Asriel flew into them.

"I'm sorry," Asriel murmured into their shoulder. "It's all my fault."

"Oh, no it's not," they retorted, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Sans was rude to you, and you didn't deserve that. Chara shouldn't have been rude back, but they and I can talk about that later. But are you okay, love? None of this could have been much easier for you."

Asriel sniffled. "Frisk, please take care of yourself. D-don't let something bad happen to you. C-cause, if—if you did die, I… I…"

Frisk closed their eyes. Was he thinking about Chara's death from before? Or was this some new horror that had been conjured up tonight? They were going to have to schedule another visit with his and Chara's therapist soon, because at the rate he was going, he was going to end up with as many issues as they did. "I promise to do my best." They paused and leaned back so that he would look up at them; when he did, they smiled and brushed a long tuft of fur from his eyes. "You don't have to worry about me. You and Chara just need to keep yourselves safe and happy, and I'll promise to do the same for me. It'll be okay, Az. I promise."

Asriel squeezed them tightly again and Frisk let him hold onto them for awhile as they rubbed his back and hummed a lullaby they faintly remembered Toriel singing to them as a child.

After a long time, Asriel leaned back, swiping at his eyes, but when he looked up at them, he managed a smile. "I'm going to let Chara go talk to Papyrus now."

"Alright, dear. You'll be okay?"

He nodded as he stood back up. "I will. I promise."

With a smile, they leaned in and pressed a kiss to his brow. "There's a good boy. Now, I'll talk to you later."

He nodded, blinked, and suddenly it was Chara looking out again. "I'll go," they announced and scurried out of their room, probably too relieved to not be in trouble to wait to see them out—usually Chara was pretty protective of their room and the things inside to the point of learning self sufficiency like changing their own light bulbs and vacuuming. It would have amused Frisk, but as they shut the door behind them, they felt rather than heard the faint fizzle of magic as Sans teleported away from the balcony.

"Oh, damn," they muttered, looking into their room. "He's probably going to get hammered and then text me at three in the morning because he's locked out of the house." They reached into the room, to turn off their lights. When they pulled their hand back, they paused and looked down at it for a moment. Downstairs, soft chatter turned into something more boisterous and cheerful, but Frisk hardly noticed as they studied their hand, pinching the palm through their glove, deep in thought.

Frisk was wrong. Sans texted them at four, making their phone rattle on their nightstand. Frisk snatched it up and checked it, just to be sure, but they allowed themselves a tiny sigh of relief when they saw his badly misspelled text. They kicked off their covers and padded downstairs to get the door, leaving lights on in their wake, and not caring a wit if they neighbors saw them at the door in only a sweater and the pair of briefs they'd worn to bed. Opening the door, they found Sans listing heavily against the side of the house next to the door, blinking blearily up at them.

"Oh, good," he murmured. "I really didn't want to try teleporting in there."

Meaning he didn't want to accidently splice his feet with a bit of his litter or one of their wet towels they left on the floor. Frisk wasn't terribly impressed either way. "Well, come on. Let's get you to bed."

He grunted and half fell against them as they pulled him into the house. They took a moment to lock the door again and then began to half pull him towards the stairs, promptly forgetting to shut off any of the lights. The stairs were as tricky as they suspected and more than once Frisk had to pull Sans up when he tripped on the edge of a step, biting their tongue until they got him up to the room.

Once inside, they let him flop on the bed. Looking down at him, they allowed themselves a sigh. "You know," they began as they reached down to wrestle him out of his coat, "if it were any other day, I'd pretty annoyed about this. Can't say I find people who are falling down drunk impressive." They got his coat off and worked his shoes off, a pain mostly because of his tightly knotted laces. "But, considering what a shitty day you had, I'll let it slide."

He muttered something that might have either been appreciative or gassy and obediently let them yank his sweater over his head. As soon as he slipped free from its grip, he slumped back on the bed, eyes shut.

Frisk snorted in spite of themselves and moved to undo his belt. "Alright, come on, big guy. We'll get your pants off and then we'll call you done, okay?"

He mumbled something, but proved he was awake by lifting hips up so they could get his pants off.

When they tossed the pants aside and turned back, they caught him yanking half heartedly at his underwear. They reached over and brushed his hands away. "Stop that, it's not that hot in here."

"Yes, it is," he grumbled, but didn't fight them again. Whenever he managed to get himself drunk they noticed he was sensitive to heat—quite the change since usually he hated being cold when sober.

"No, it's not, and if you pull those off, you'll just be complaining that you're too cold." Instead of tugging him to his side of the bed, they pulled him up into theirs; he made a small noise of complaint when they pulled the covers up over him. "If it's that bad, I'll turn the fan on for you. But clothes and blankets stay on."

He sighed, but didn't kick the blankets off in the time it took for them to fiddle with the overhead fan. Once they climbed in bed beside him, he surprised them by immediately reaching out and grabbing the fabric of their sweater over their shoulder.

They blinked at him and settled down under the covers, never breaking the gaze between him. "This is a surprise. I thought you were just going to konk out on me as soon as you could manage."

"Do we really only have eighty years together?"

They froze—the question was surprisingly coherent considering how much he'd been mumbling. After a moment, they reached out and began to gently rub their thumb against his right cheekbone. "Maybe," they said, carefully considering their words. "Maybe more."

His gaze, which had been bleary, suddenly focused in on them. "How much more?"

Their eyes settled on the hand that was still stroking his cheek. Where to begin? Would it freak him out if they admitted they'd been planning to see a doctor about the fact they hadn't had a period in over a year and they were worried about cancer until they realized other things. Like the fact that their hair and nails never grew, never need trimming—when they loss a chunk of their hair trying to dodge an assassin's magic, the hair was back to normal within a week. That, however, probably wasn't going to help.

Instead, they pulled their hand back. At his blank expression, they reached out and reluctantly pulled off the glove. He frowned at the hole in their palm—also never unchanging, never shrinking or expanding—but looked no closer to the truth.

At last, they sighed. "Sans, this body is full of monster magic. I'm not—this body isn't entirely human anymore." They grimaced and pulled the glove back on.

His eyes were sharp when they looked back up. "So… you might have more time?"

They paused—hope always looked strange but precious in his face, like it was a stranger he hoped would come but was never prepared for. Still, it was a good look on him and they found themselves smiling despite the churning in their own stomach. "Maybe. Maybe not. This is all pretty new to me, so I don't know what I'm doing."

He snorted and for a moment, he looked happier. "Welcome to the club, babe."

They chuckled and reached for him again—without a word, he shifted forward until they could pull him to their side. They pressed their forehead to his as he tucked himself against their shoulder. "Look, I'm thinking about going to some doctors. Hell, maybe even to see Alphys. We'll find out what we can, deal with it then." They glanced down at his skull and sighed against it. "We just have to deal with it as it comes. Until then, no point to worrying about it."

"If you say so," he murmured, his voice thickening with sleep already.

Still, there was something they had to say to him first. They poked him in the back of his head; when he grumbled at them, they cleared their throat. "Since it's just as likely that I'll be alive for awhile or not and I'm giving up my human cigarettes, I want a favor from you too."

"Whatever you want," he mumbled.

"No more getting so drunk you can't even make it across the room without stumbling around. One day, you'll get yourself hurt." They paused and went on. "I'm not saying no drinking, but no more drinking 'til you're a mess, okay? Or at least take me with you so I can keep an eye on you."

He paused and nodded. "Okay."

They raised an eyebrow. Well, that was easier than I planned. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He pressed his face deeper into their shoulder. "Sounds fair."

"Oh. Well, good." They lay there, looking up past him as they tried to think of something else to say. When they couldn't think of anything, they shrugged mentally. "Alright then. Let's just get to sleep then."

They said it more for themselves, but he surprised them by murmuring again. "Frisk?"

"Yes?"

"If you end up living longer than humans, do me a favor."

Frisk frowned, torn between amusement and confusion. "And what's that?"

"Don't die before me." He said it so softly, Frisk almost missed it.

Their smile turned tense and they fought the urge to wince. "Would you really leave me behind?" They paused, waiting, but all they got in response was a snore. Sighing, Frisk patted his back and closed their eyes.

That night, they dreamed of their mother's funeral, but when walked up to the casket to press their fingertips against its side, they found a row of caskets instead. In each one, a friend and loved one rested in grim repose; their parents, this world's Sans, Asriel, Chara, Papyrus, Mettaton, Undyne, and so on. They looked at each body, some faint part of their brain protesting that it should only be dust in the coffins, but then a hand clapped onto their shoulder. They turned, expecting to see their grandfather's forlorn face looking down at them.

Instead, it was a skeleton in black who smiled down at them. "Death visits everyone around you, but not you," he said in his strange voice. "You will always be left behind."

Frisk looked at the hand resting on their shoulder—there was a hole in the palm.

When they woke up, they gasped up into the darkness. Sans snored heavily against their shoulder, and for a moment, they felt more alone than they had in nearly a year. Shivering, Frisk realized Sans had kicked off the covers off the both of them. Grimacing, they untangled themselves from his grasp and pulled the blankets back up, but when they tried to curl around him again, sleep refused to return.

Rather than get up and putter around in the kitchen, as they usually did, they pressed themselves close to Sans and looked past him into the shadows.

"I don't want to be alone again," they whispered to the shadows and settled in for a long night.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is late! It was my birthday on Tuesday and my week's been out of whack sense then.

This chapter's funny-I was actually going to post an entirely different chapter this week, but then I realized that one of the jokes in it was going to make any sense without this chapter for context. So I paused writing for that chapter and whipped this one up instead! That said, next week will be a request chapter.